


Fake It Til You Make It

by nonamouse



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, From the depths of my hard drive, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Wild inaccuracies, canon typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonamouse/pseuds/nonamouse
Summary: Ray was the last person Brad expected to find on the other side of his door.





	Fake It Til You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> All the usual disclaimers apply. All inaccuracies are mine, roll with the MacGuffin my darlings.

Ray was the last person Brad expected to find on the other side of his door. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Ray?” He asked. 

“How are you, Ray, you Whiskey Tango fuck?” Ray pushed past him into the room and threw his ruck on the bed. “Why, I'm just great, Brad, how about yourself? I'm doing mighty fine, Ray, sure have missed you since you left the Corps.” 

Brad listened impassively, hand still on the doorknob, until Ray was finished. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“What in the fuck are you doing here, Ray?” 

“Hey, fuck you, Brad. I was invited to come here.” 

“Invited by whom?” 

“Some limey motherfucker called me and told me to show up, you’re the only guy I know in this God forsaken country; I figured you invited me.” 

Brad shook his head. “I didn’t invite you.” 

“Well then who-”

Someone rapping on the doorframe caused Ray to halt midsentence. Brad sighed. 

“Major,” he said. 

“I see your mate has arrived, Gunnery Sergeant,” The Major strode past Brad, hand extended. It took half a second for Brad to register the odd emphasis placed on the word mate. “Major Peter Smith-Kearning.”

Ray shook his hand with a slightly bemused look on his face. “Josh Ray Person,” he said. “Of the Nev-ay-da Persons.” 

The Major’s smile widened slightly, “Brad has told us so much about you.”

“I’m afraid our Brad is a filthy fucking liar, I am the absolute pinnacle of integrity and charm, no matter what he told you.” 

He cut his eyes in Brad’s direction and if Brad didn’t know better, he’d think Ray winked at him. The Major chuckled and held Ray’s hand just a half second too long. 

“You are at least as charming as Brad described,” he said. “He is a lucky man.” 

That was too much for even the Iceman’s nerves. 

“What- what do you mean by that?” He demanded. 

“Don’t worry, Gunnery Sergeant,” the Major clapped Brad on the shoulder. “I understand how it can be to be apart from your…” he paused, searching for a word, “dear friends. There’s no need for anyone to know. We just want you to know how much we appreciate everything you’re doing.” 

“You did this? I don’t know what you think is going on here but-”

“It’s all right, Brad,” he said, firmly. “I’ll just let you two catch up. A pleasure, Josh Ray Person.” 

Ray flicked a wave at him, “likewise.” 

Brad threw the door closed behind the Major a little harder than he intended and winced at the noise it made. 

“You tell people about me?” Ray said, sounding oddly touched. “That’s so sweet.” 

“Shut up, Ray,” blessedly, Ray did. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school right now?” 

“It’s Spring Break, holmes! I could be in Panama City right now swimming in trim and shitty beer, but I decided to spend the week with you, instead.” 

Brad groaned, “you realize they think we’re fucking, right?” 

Ray stared at him for a moment too long. 

“Don’t get me wrong, dude, I love you, no homo, but us two fucking? No way, holmes.” He paused and smirked a little, “maybe if you were a little more…” he made a rude gesture with his hands. “You know, like Rudy.” 

“Ray, as fucking gay as you are, you realize that I have neither the time nor the energy to explain to these people that we are not a couple?” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“No, you fucking won’t. The Major has been trying to ‘repay’ me for months now. He’s like a dog with a fucking bone, so we are going to play along, Corporal Person, and you are going to enjoy your free vacation.” 

“Well, fuck yeah,” Ray said, cheerfully. “Does this mean you’re finally going to suck my dick?” 

Brad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “what hotel did they put you in?” 

Ray stared at him blankly, “hotel?”

“Yes, Ray. It’s a place where you pay money to spend the night. Do they not have hotels in the Red State inbred cousin fucking shithole you grew up in?” 

“Brad, there is no hotel. They said they’d put me up here as a special guest or some shit like that. Can you imagine the Corps doing that? These Royal Marines sure as shit know how to treat a guy.” He paused, “and now that I think about it, that makes no goddamn sense.” Ray shrugged helplessly, looking near panic. “I’m broke Brad, I’m only here because it was free to get here.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ray,” Brad said, but it was without venom. “How long as it been since you ate?” 

Ray shrugged. 

“How the fuck do you remember to breathe without someone telling you to?” 

Ray shrugged again, but his face curved into a smirk, “you gonna take care of me, Brad? I always wanted a sugar daddy. ” 

Brad did not respond, he turned on his heel and opened the door. “Stay here,” he tossed over his shoulder as he strode into the hall, stalking his way through the barracks until he found the Major chatting with another officer. He waited, with open impatience, until they were finished and the other officer left. 

“I knew I forgot to give you your pass,” the Major said, patting the pockets of his uniform jacket, and fishing out a small slip of paper. “You have the week to do whatever you wish.” Brad took the paper and stuffed it in his pocket and started to speak, but the Major stopped him. 

“And I’ll see to it that the quartermaster takes care of your sleeping arrangement,” he winked meaningfully. “I trust that will be all.” 

Brad looked momentarily taken aback by this before he schooled his features back into non-committal blandness. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir,” and returned to his room without another word. 

He found Ray half inside his ruck, scattering clothes all over the room. 

“What the hell are you doing, Ray?” 

Ray looked at him over his shoulder, “we’re going on a date, Brad; I want to look nice.” 

“We are not going on a date.” 

“But everyone thinks we are,” Ray looked him up and down. “And you’re not really gonna wear your cammies on a date, are you?” 

\------

Ray cheerfully held Brad’s hand as they moved through the base, waving flirtatiously at anyone who looked at them for more than a few seconds. 

“You can let go now,” Brad said the moment they were more than a block away from the gates, though he made no real move to do so himself. 

Ray hesitated and then dropped Brad’s hand, shoving his hand into the pocket of his jacket instead. 

“Where are you taking me?” If Brad detected the note of petulance in Ray’s voice, he didn’t let on. 

“There’s a pub all the guys on the base go to when they have weekend passes. We are going to go there, have a quiet dinner and then we are going to go back to the base and go to bed.” 

“Aw, Brad, you promise? You’re such a romantic.” 

Brad sighed, “shut the fuck up, Ray.” 

This time Ray did not shut up. In fact, he talked more, bubbling over with questions about the Royal Marines and the city and the buildings they passed and what kind of beer he should buy and the food he should order. He didn’t even stop after he smeared ketchup on his shirt while trying to dump half the bottle on his fish and chips even as Brad tried to convince him the that vinegar would actually be good on the fries too. He wasn’t about to say it out loud, but Brad had missed Ray. Listening to Ray’s jabbering made him feel a pinch of nostalgia he hadn’t felt since the last time he caught himself examining a picture of his ex-fiancée and his best friend posing together at Sugarloaf. 

“Wow, Brad, I didn’t think the philosophy of the inevitability of suffering was all that amusing.” 

Brad shook himself. “What?” 

Ray scoffed, but his smile was genuine. “So you are awake.” 

“How does a whiskey tango hick like you end up a philosophy major anyway? What the fuck are you going to do with that?”

“I dunno,” Ray shrugged and swirled a chunk of fish in his ketchup. “Maybe I’ll become a lawyer.” 

He shoved the piece of fish into his mouth, smearing ketchup on his cheek. Brad, without even thinking about it, grabbed his napkin and reached out to wipe it away. 

“What are you doing, Brad?” 

Brad froze. “Wipe your face, fuckhead,” he said, dropping the napkin in Ray’s plate. 

“Dude!” Ray threw up his hands. “I was totally still working on that, yo!” 

“Just move the napkin, it’s fine.” Ray pouted. “I’ll order you another beer.” 

Ray grinned, “awesome. But first, I gotta take a piss.” 

Brad rubbed his temples and watched Ray shamble off to the bathroom. He was getting soft, he never would have let that shit fly in Iraq. He got another beer for Ray and a double scotch for himself, it was technically his vacation too; he might as well enjoy it. And Brad had a lot of scotch that night, Ray made sure there was another one waiting for him as soon as he’d finished the previous one. 

He lost count around five. 

Around eight, he challenged a couple of RAFies to a game of darts and won. 

Around fourteen, he beat them at billiards and started calling them the Royal Chair Force. 

He had just polished off fifteen when the RAFies had finally had enough of him asking them if they were the secretaries of the British Armed Services and they started fingering their pool cues with a more murderous intent. Ray, who was, by some miracle, somewhat less drunk than Brad, and another Royal Marine managed to convince him that it was time for bed and drag him out of the bar. He stumbled against Ray cursing under his breath and insisting that he wasn’t even all that drunk. 

Even though he totally was. 

Which, in spite of the hangover he was sure to have in the morning, turned out to be a good thing because it kept him from being too pissed off about the arrangement the quartermaster had made for Ray’s stay. Someone had lashed two of the narrow racks side by side and left a note admonishing them not to be too rough. 

“What the fuck is this shit?” Brad slurred. 

“Marines make do, sir,” Ray replied, smothering a laugh with his palm. 

Brad was too drunk to argue with that. He sat heavily on the edge of the “bed” and rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Ray.” He said. 

“Aw, I knew you missed your pal, Ray-Ray.” 

Brad reached out and grabbed Ray’s wrist and pulled him around to meet his eyes. 

“I mean it, Ray,” he said with drunken earnestness. “I really missed you.” 

Ray raised his arm and let his hand hover in the air by Brad’s ear for a moment before pulling away and turning his back. 

“I gotta hit the head,” he said. 

By the time he came back, Brad had fallen asleep. 

\------

Brad woke up the following morning with the superheated lump of Ray spooning him from behind, snoring softly in his ear with his arm clamped around Brad’s waist. He lay there for a moment, not feeling altogether unpleasant or uncomfortable about it until the nausea rolled over him like a wave. He shoved Ray off, unceremoniously waking him, and made for the head, scattering enlisted men in his path as he went. 

Fortunately, he did not throw up; he pissed a gallon, though, and stood peering at himself in the mirror taking account of his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles before plodding back to his room. Ray sat on the edge of the bed, looking too cheerful. 

“Jesus Christ, Ray, how are you not hung over?” 

“I only had four,” he said, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You had quite a few more than that.” 

Brad sat down heavily, trying not to give Ray the satisfaction of seeing how wretched he felt. 

“Hey, buddy,” Ray said gently. “Let’s get some breakfast, huh?” He shoved at Brad’s shoulder with his own. “It’ll make you feel better. Little bangers an’ mash for ya gov’nuh?” 

“If we go get some food, will you promise never to do that again?” 

Ray grinned and held up his hands, “I never make promises I won’t be able to keep, Bradley.” 

Brad smiled in spite of himself. And Ray wasn’t wrong about breakfast. A little greasy food and a Bloody Mary or two and he was as good as new, if just a shade tipsy. But even that was all right, he felt relaxed. He’d needed this vacation more than he’d ever admit outside his own head. Unfortunately, Ray’s uncanny ability to half read his mind hadn’t waned since they’d left Iraq. 

“What’d I tell you, Brad?” He said, patting his stomach with satisfaction. “Your old pal Ray would never steer you wrong.” He stood up and stretched like a cat; the hem of his T-shirt rode up exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans, which Brad found inexplicably fascinating. He had seen Ray in all manner of dress and undress and half dress and full dress but, for some reason, this was different. He forced his gaze away. 

“What now?” He asked. 

Ray shrugged, “what the fuck do you people do in this one horse town?” 

Brad honestly didn’t know. He never asked for time off, he never took libo even when it was offered to him and the one time he was ordered, he didn’t even bother leaving the base. 

“Beach?” He suggested. 

Ray scoffed. “I know we haven’t been outside in awhile, Brad, but I’m starting to wonder if the sun _ever_ shines in the country.” 

“It doesn’t, but the beach is still nice.”

“Haven’t you had enough sand?” Ray asked archly. But he smiled and plucked his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Imma go outside and smoke.” 

Brad watched him stick a cigarette between his lips; his eyes lingered slightly too long on the yellow filter end and Ray smirked. Brad couldn’t tell if he’d been caught staring or if it was just Ray being Ray. 

“I’ll get the check,” he said. 

Ray grinned around the cigarette and shrugged into his coat and sauntered outside. Brad shook his head, he’d meant to make Ray pay half, but he was buzzing too nicely to care that he’d forgotten. He took care of the tab and stepped outside. Ray leaned against the brick wall outside with his eyes closed and exhaled smoke out of his nose. Brad impishly plucked the cigarette from between Ray’s lips and took a long, satisfied drag. 

“Since when do you smoke?” Ray asked; mimosas and the little bit of the sun’s warmth absorbed by the bricks making him feel lazy. 

Brad shrugged and exhaled smoke rings and handed the cigarette back. He thought maybe Ray’s fingers pressed against his just a little to long, but he pushed that out of his mind as quickly as the thought occurred to him. 

“So then, where to, Gunny?” 

Brad reached out to grab Ray’s arm, thought better of it, and stuck his hands in his pockets instead. 

“This way,” he said, jerking his head in the general direction of the tiny break beach he’d tried surfing on a borrowed board. The waves had been all right but the water frigid and he hadn’t bothered to go back a second time. Ray fell into step beside him and they walked in a companionable silence. 

“Why’d you decide to do this, Brad?” Ray asked suddenly. 

Brad found himself taken aback, he hadn’t actually given it much thought. When the opportunity came up he just took it. 

“Dunno,” he said. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” 

They walked a little further in silence, the sound of the waves crashing on the beach leading the way. 

“It’s here,” Brad said, pointing with his chin. 

It was far too cold to even consider wading, so they stood side by side with their hands crammed into the pockets of their jackets. Ray traced lines in the sand with the toe of his boot. 

“It kinda sucks not having you around.” He admitted, quietly. “Even in Iraq when everything was completely fucked all the time,” he paused and looked up at Brad. “You were, like, reliable, you know?” 

Brad wasn’t sure how to respond to that, he spent so much time compartmentalizing his feelings; he’d never given much thought to how he actually felt about Ray. 

“Ray,” he said quietly, feeling muddled and overwhelmed the way he’d felt when Trombley had shot those two shepherds on his orders. He’d been so busy trying to keep them all alive that he hadn’t even considered what kind of leader he was; at the time, it didn’t matter. 

Ray smiled up at him, “you don’t gotta say nothin, Brad, I know you suck at emotions and shit. I know you love your Ray-Ray.” 

Brad smiled, really smiled, maybe for the first time since Iraq and bumped Ray’s shoulder with his own. 

“You sick, inbred, sister-fucking hillbilly,” he said, but the words were without bite. 

“Wine sipping, hippie dick-suck,” Ray replied cheerfully and, for a minute, standing there in the sand, it was almost like it had been when Ray was still in the Corps and driving Brad’s Humvee. He let his knuckles brush against the back of Brad’s hand and Brad twined their fingers together, warmly squeezing Ray’s hand before letting go and shoving his hand back into his pocket. 

Ray looked up at him in shock. Brad shrugged, trying to hide how much he’d shocked himself, and looked out across the Channel without speaking. Ray huffed out a laugh and shook his head. 

“Fuckin A, Brad,” he muttered.

-End


End file.
